Machine Of Death Part 9

I knew how I was going to die, right? So what did I also know?

How I was not going to die.

I slept like a baby.

I woke up a brand new man. Everything around me was colored different. Cereal smelled sweeter, the wind felt crisper, and traffic sounded like chirping birds. Everything changes when you start to live without fear. I left high school in the dust. I called up friends I had neglected for too long. And I made a decision about the rest of my life.

See, it was all the looking up. My head had literally been in the clouds for three years. And in the sky, I found the love of my life.

I wanted to fly.

Everything fit. I could never be scared of flying at twelve thousand feet, because I knew perfectly well that no plane under my command would ever crash. I'd find my niche among the aircraft's b.u.t.tons, levers, and instruments. As long as none of them were musical instruments, I would be fine.

So I went to flight school. None of my instructors had ever seen such a confident student. They were used to seeing regular people shaken or even a little daunted by the complexity of a flying machine. Not me: I grabbed the controls and took her up like I was riding a bike. Not a moment of hesitation. If only they knew I had the certainty that nothing would ever go wrong with me at the stick.

The skies became as familiar to me as home. And I was good! It was amazing: knowing I couldn't crash realized and solidified the fact that I would never crash.

Pa.s.sed every test with flying colors, so to speak. Finally made my mother proud. And how could I fail? I was unafraid. That little card, the one I carried in my pocket everywhere I went, had told me the only thing that could ever kill me. PIANO. Ha! I laughed at the word now. It was just a harmless little word. All I'd had to do was wrap myself in a piano-less world. And planes and pianos do not mix.

I wish I'd known earlier how knowing the exact way I'd die would grant me such happiness and self-confidence. I wanted to kick life in the shin. I became such a daredevil that I joined the military. Yeah, why not? I would go to war. That white card was my carte blanche. It didn't say BULLET, did it? It didn't say BOMB or MISSILE, either. I was unstoppable.

I climbed the ranks like crazy; I made captain like you'd make a hardboiled egg. No one was able to match my piloting skills and daring stunts in the air. I was the envy of the entire service. They trained me to fly helicopters, and I aced that as well. I couldn't wait to get into combat! That's how psyched I was. I even heard they thought I had a deathwish. But death was the least of my concerns. If it wasn't playing the Cheers Cheers theme song, I said bring it on. theme song, I said bring it on.

I was the first in line to tour the Middle East. There's always something over here that needs bombing, and I was counting on being the first one off the ground. They even put me in charge of a Black Hawk. A Black Hawk, man! The predator of the sky.

I don't remember the details of this particular mission; I know it went something like this: the Humvees and the .50-cals were supposed to roll into some town somewhere, neutralize the insurgency, and go home. Our four birds were the air support, and I said no worries, dudes. There'll be no Black Hawk Down with me on board, baby. Right?

Wrong.

OK. I hope all this is readable, by the way. I'm writing in the dark on some sc.r.a.p of cloth I found lying around on the floor of the cell, and you do not want to find out what I'm writing with.

At this point, if anyone ever does read this, you must have figured out there's no happy ending for this one. Obviously I've been taken captive-a hostage to barter with, or perhaps payback for all the Gitmo/Abu Ghraib c.r.a.p they must have seen on Al Jazeera. That would explain all the cruel-and-unusual we've been subject to for the past...week? Month? I don't even wanna know anymore. This is as far as I want to remember. I'd like to get to the point of all this before I lose the rest of my mind.

I have to think hard about what the point of all this was...I've been having problems gathering my thoughts, lately. It's been h.e.l.l with the lightbulb, and the mask, and the hi-fi sound system constantly blaring in the background...actually, the foreground when you think of it, since there's nothing over or under it, aft or fore...it smears my days and it haunts my dreams and I know, I know now what it's all come to-I know that music, I know precisely what musical instrument is playing that music, and I have time to think about it too, as I weave and heave and lie here in the darkness, silently contemplating my death...

It's a symphony, it's a concerto, it's "Great b.a.l.l.s of Fire," and yes...whatever it is...it's a solo solo.

Story by Rafa Franco Ill.u.s.tration by Kean Soo

HIV INFECTION FROM MACHINE OF DEATH NEEDLE.

"WELL," I thought, "that sucks."

Story by Brian Quinlan Ill.u.s.tration by KC Green

EXPLODED.

"f.u.c.k!"

It came from the den. Later I'd learn that it had followed a much quieter, "Oh f.u.c.k. Oh-"

My first thought was that it had broken. I was going to spend a lot of time over the next five years wishing that I'd been right about that.

He burst into the room, crunching the door hinges and smacking the handle deep into the plaster. He nearly fell over trying to stop. I didn't say anything, just stared.

"391! He was on the train this morning! He was one of the victims!" He stared too. We just stared. He was on the train this morning! He was one of the victims!" He stared too. We just stared. "Look it up!" "Look it up!"

I didn't have to. An electric buzz, as much like actual pain as excitement, jumped from my stomach to my head. I didn't have all our test cases memorised yet, but Mr. 391 I did know: EXPLODED. He was one of the reasons I was sure it wasn't working- his prediction was a joke. He saw I wasn't looking it up, saw me looking at him, and knew I knew, but said it all the same: "It f.u.c.king works."

We were eating.

"Okay, well, it's on on now." I munched a chip. now." I munched a chip.

"Yeah."

"I mean, it's on." on." I pointed a chip at him for emphasis. I pointed a chip at him for emphasis.

"Yeah."

"I'm just-"

"I get that it is on."

"Okay." I put my chips down.

I fixed myself a drink.

He came into my office again, calmly this time, through the broken door. My office, his house. We left all the doors open that afternoon, and just walked around doing small, unimportant things, occasionally meeting in the corridors of his big, dusty old house and swapping new thoughts.

"What's the latest count? How many others died?"

"Wikipedia has a hundred now." I told him, underplaying it a little. "Some places have two." They all had two.

"Christ. From one bomb?"

"They think it was a few, and it was on the subway, so..."

"Yeah. Christ." He slouched against the wall and looked up at the cracked ceiling. "This isn't quite how I imagined it working."

"You know we still have to publish our results, right? I mean, that was the point of no return, right there."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just-" He looked at me. "It's going to look like we're profiting off this."

I laughed, then met his eyes. "It's going to look like we're profiting profiting from it? Pete, it's going to look like we from it? Pete, it's going to look like we did did it. You don't seem to realise how sceptical people are going to be about something like this. You're the only person in the world who has any idea how this box works, and to the rest of us it looks a h.e.l.l of a lot like a hoax. And when some small-minded p.r.i.c.k with a bag of pipe bombs decided commuters were responsible for all the world's problems this morning, it became the most vicious hoax in history. We're going to have protesters on your lawn around the clock, we're going to get ripped to shreds in the press, we're going to be hounded by cameras. We're going to get it. You don't seem to realise how sceptical people are going to be about something like this. You're the only person in the world who has any idea how this box works, and to the rest of us it looks a h.e.l.l of a lot like a hoax. And when some small-minded p.r.i.c.k with a bag of pipe bombs decided commuters were responsible for all the world's problems this morning, it became the most vicious hoax in history. We're going to have protesters on your lawn around the clock, we're going to get ripped to shreds in the press, we're going to be hounded by cameras. We're going to get mail bombs, mail bombs, Pete." I sat down, and lowered my voice. "They're gonna try and kill us. n.o.body knows yet, but I promise you that at some point in the next eighteen hours, someone Googling the victim names is going to find our prediction list and our lives as they stand will be over." I was realising most of this as I said it. I felt sick. We were f.u.c.ked. Pete." I sat down, and lowered my voice. "They're gonna try and kill us. n.o.body knows yet, but I promise you that at some point in the next eighteen hours, someone Googling the victim names is going to find our prediction list and our lives as they stand will be over." I was realising most of this as I said it. I felt sick. We were f.u.c.ked.

"We're f.u.c.ked, aren't we?"

"We're not f.u.c.ked." I thought about it. We were definitely f.u.c.ked. "No, we're not f.u.c.ked."

He shook his head. "We're so f.u.c.ked."

I sighed. We were so, so f.u.c.ked.

"I don't, you know," he said suddenly, as we boxed up the prototype.

I frowned. "What?"

"Have any idea how it works. I'm the same as anyone else, except I know it does."

"You made made it, Pete. I just did your accounts." it, Pete. I just did your accounts."

"I didn't really. I discovered it. If it had done what I built it to do, if it had been the thing we were trying to make, if it had been the Death Clock-"

"I told you we couldn't call it that."

"-Then I would have made it. But you can't make something like this, it's out there waiting to be found."

"Well, I certainly hope you can can make it. Because we're going to need a job f.u.c.king lot of them." make it. Because we're going to need a job f.u.c.king lot of them."

"You know, this is the best possible way it could have happened."

"What the h.e.l.l?" I was actually shocked.

"No, I mean, to prove it. You couldn't ask for a more conclusive test." He put up a hand to silence me, "I know, I know loads of people are going to think we blew up a train to sell a box, but this is still going to convince more people than we ever dreamed we would. Your investor friends aren't going to think we blew up San Francisco, they're going to think it works."

"They're not going to like the publicity."

"They don't have to, yet. No one has to know they're investing, and they all know that by the time they come to sell them, the whole world will realise they work." I was the business brain of the operation, but Pete wasn't an idiot. I knew it from the moment he said "391": this would make make us. us.

"Did you tell Jen yet?"

"What? Yeah, of course! You didn't tell Cath?"

"Not yet." Honestly, it had only just occured to me.

"Well why the h.e.l.l not? You've got to tell her, dude." I hate it when he calls me dude. dude.

"I just-how do you say it? How did you you say it?" say it?"

"I said 'Jen, it works,' same as I said to you."

"Actually you said 'It f.u.c.king works!'" 'It f.u.c.king works!'" I mocked, in my best nasal geek voice. "But you told her how we know?" I mocked, in my best nasal geek voice. "But you told her how we know?"

"Yeah."

"Was she freaked out?"

"Of course. Aren't you?"

"I'm-I've been-" I came clean. "I feel sick. I've been feeling sick for three hours now."

He looked straight at me; I don't talk like that often. "You've got to tell her. Jen'll tell her, and she'll tell her when I told her. You know what they're like, women just find a way to get times into conversations."

"I can't say I'd noticed."

"Well, they do."

I walked into the den. Pete was tinkering again, already. I set his coffee down and took a sip of mine.

"Thanks."

I ignored him. "Here's what we do. You spend the rest of the night packing all this away, everything you need. I hire a van. You hire a hangar. I hire an agent. You draw me up a list of the components that went into the latest prototype-not the ones you think think you'll need for the new improved version, I know you. The components for you'll need for the new improved version, I know you. The components for this this one.I'll give the investors the heads-up before the news breaks, and tell them we need the first payment by noon tomorrow. You call every engineer friend you trust and get them on board. Write out a step-by-step a.s.sembly guide an idiot could follow in the van on the way, then make sure we don't hire any idiots to follow it. I order us a new pair of phones, we throw these away, and we give the new numbers to one.I'll give the investors the heads-up before the news breaks, and tell them we need the first payment by noon tomorrow. You call every engineer friend you trust and get them on board. Write out a step-by-step a.s.sembly guide an idiot could follow in the van on the way, then make sure we don't hire any idiots to follow it. I order us a new pair of phones, we throw these away, and we give the new numbers to no one no one but Cath and Jen unless I say. We disappear. I can sort out accommodation once we're out of here, and a few months down the line we can buy a new place, but right now we have to get as many of these things built and making predictions as possible. The more predictions they make, the more get proved right, the fewer mail bombs we get." I sipped. "What's that?" He was writing something. but Cath and Jen unless I say. We disappear. I can sort out accommodation once we're out of here, and a few months down the line we can buy a new place, but right now we have to get as many of these things built and making predictions as possible. The more predictions they make, the more get proved right, the fewer mail bombs we get." I sipped. "What's that?" He was writing something.

"It's a step-by-step a.s.sembly guide an idiot could follow." He put it on a thin pile.

"What are those?"

"Well," he leafed through them, "this one's a component list for the prototype, this one's a map to the hangar we've hired, these are the resumes of the three most expensive agents I could find, this one's a printout of a receipt for two iPhones, this one's a fax from the Hyatt confirming our reservation, and these are the keys to our new van." He tossed them to me. I looked around the room, I guess for the first time. It was full of neatly packed boxes.

"What do I do at this company again?"

"It's never really been clear to me." He took a sip of his coffee and went back to writing. "Call the investors!" he shouted after me as I left, forgetting my mug.

"We're not going to get killed by a mail bomb, you know," he said in the van on the way up. It was dark, I was driving, which meant the radio stayed off. "We know that much. Whatever happens with this, it won't kill us. I'm an aneurysm and you're a heart attack, those were the first two tests we ever ran."

"Yeah." I'd been thinking about that a lot since we discovered the box really worked. I wondered what it would feel like. "Christ, what about Cath and Jen?" I'd refused to let either of them be tested.

"We'll have them take it, we have to now." They were coming up tomorrow. The thought of it made me queasy.

"No," I said suddenly. "No. I don't want it hanging over them." Then, feeling the familiar emotional crunch of stepping on Pete's toes when it came to Jen, "Not Cath, anyway." I said suddenly. "No. I don't want it hanging over them." Then, feeling the familiar emotional crunch of stepping on Pete's toes when it came to Jen, "Not Cath, anyway."

"We have to."

"You think about it, don't you? What it's going to feel like? Come on, we don't want that for them." He stared at the wing-mirror. "If I looked through your browser cache, I'd find a bunch of sites about aneurysms, right?" "

"No." He looked back at the road. We sat in silence for a few minutes, the blank road purring beneath us as a half-tunnel of arched black trees flashed by either side. "I cleared it."

I looked away from the road for the briefest moment. He was smiling.

So that was that day. I persuaded Cath not to take the test, and Jen didn't need persuading: she said over her dead body, and I said we probably wouldn't bother if she was already dead, and she said good, and updated her position to "Not even even over my dead body." In all of our discussions that night, I don't think Pete or I considered that they'd have a say in it themselves. over my dead body." In all of our discussions that night, I don't think Pete or I considered that they'd have a say in it themselves.